


If

by Cumquatmarmalade



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15325986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumquatmarmalade/pseuds/Cumquatmarmalade
Summary: She stood at the threshold wondering how different her life might have been if she had said yes, instead of no.





	If

 

She stood at the threshold wondering how different her life might have been if she had said yes, instead of no.

\----

They had met up in Paris. She had wanted the city of lovers and both had wanted to escape past ghosts and make new memories in one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

She had taken an apartment for two months, figuring that would be long enough for them to know if they could sustain a relationship at close quarters; long enough for the novelty of sex and lust and all it brought with it, to wear off. Long enough to see what lay beneath.

She had bought a case of the finest champagne and stocked the refrigerator with cheese and fruit and oysters (well they’d need them for stamina at the very least!)

The apartment was lavish but not overstated. Jack was nothing if not practical; not ostentatious, and Phryne herself was fond of beautiful, expensive things but never wanted to rub Jack’s nose in them (well, unless they were silk- and lingerie). She gazed at herself in the mirror and smiled. She reached for her lipstick, applying the glossy red liberally.

But then she paused. There was no need for artifice or masks. This was Jack Robinson. The Jack Robinson who loved her without condition; loved her for everything she was and wanted her for everything she could ever be. The Jack Robinson who was even now, travelling halfway across the world for her.

She glanced at the clock. They’d decided no dockside vigil. The ship could well be delayed by hours, possibly days. She took a deep and somewhat nervous breath. She wanted it to be today.

She picked up a handkerchief and wiped the lipstick away…

\----

Jack Robinson, pushed the fedora firmly down on his head as he disembarked his ship. There was a wind blowing and clouds were gathering. If Jack had been a superstitious man, he’d have considered the gloomy skies an omen.

But Jack was not a superstitious man.

He consulted a map and then asked a passer-by in a strange mix of English and French where Rue de la Concorde was. They smiled and pointed and he followed their directions as best he could.

Cobbled streets busy with evening diners and lovers wandering hand in hand, gave way to quieter lanes and suddenly he was standing before a door, heavy and painted black in stark contrast to the light stone surrounding it. The evening was giving way to darkness as he planted his suitcase beside him, took a deep fortifying breath and took hold of the brass knocker. It was time.

At last it was time.

\----

Phryne heard the sound of the door and sprang to her feet, smoothing down her skirts with suddenly shaking hands.

He was here. Jack was here.

She wanted to run down the stairs and just throw open the door before throwing herself into his arms. But instead she walked slowly to the stairs and began to descend them with care; her heart nearly beating out of her chest.

Jack felt the first drops of rain as he heard the locks on the door being loosened and he removed his hat, twisting it nervously in his hands.

There would be no butler here. No staff. This was their oasis. Their place to find themselves; to lose themselves. No interruptions. No murders. Nothing but each other.

“Hello Jack.”

Her voice, achingly familiar, washed over him like a warm wave. It had been so long; too long. He looked up.

“Miss Fisher.” He all but bowed.

Phryne worried her bottom lip with her teeth and smiled, suddenly nervous and uncertain. Had they done the right thing, made the right decision?

“Well,” she said at last, “Don’t just stand out there in the rain. Come in. Come in.”

He picked up his suitcase and entered the apartment.

Phryne closed the door behind him and they stood, suddenly awkward. She stared at him. He looked tired. He looked wonderful.

“How was your journey?” she managed at last.

“The last part was a bit rough,” he replied.

A lengthy pause settled between them.

“I wonder if I might freshen up?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh of course,” she said quickly. “What an appalling host I’m being. Follow me upstairs. To your room, if you wish it. Or to mine.”

And there it was. Hanging in the air between them. Make your choice, Jack Robinson.

Jack shrugged off his heavy coat, hanging it on the rack near the door. His hat soon followed.

Phryne felt the tension in him; felt her chest heaving with desire and uncertainty and everything she’d hoped would melt away as he arrived.

The silence clung on.

“Yours, I think,” Jack said at last.

My what?” she said, suddenly startled.

“Your room. _Our_ room,” he stated meaningfully, his eyes meeting hers with a new and more clear intent.

Her breath hitched.

He noticed.

Damn detective noticed everything.

“There’s a pretty decent shower and a huge tub, if you’re so inclined,” she said, her voice suddenly smaller than she’d ever heard herself.

But instead of moving towards the door, he took a step towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. She could feel herself trembling and try as she might to gain the upper hand, she simply could not stop.

“This is a good apartment,” she said lightly, all too aware that she was making ridiculous small talk as Jack slowly advanced towards her. “It gets the most glorious light in the mornings.”

Jack made a non-committal sound and stepped again.

He was close now. So close. And yet she wanted him closer still. Close enough that she could wrap herself in his skin; have him inside her, hold him until night became day, became night again.

“We’re close to the centre of the city. The little café on the corner bakes the most decadent croissants and,”-

His hand, warm and strong, settled on her hip and she felt his thumb stroke gently through the thin silk of her pale blue dress, caressing her ribs.

“The beds are comfortable,” she said, “so wherever you,”-

“God Phryne, I want to kiss you so badly,” he whispered, his other hand settling in her hair.

“Oh Jack, I’m not stopping you,” she managed and then his mouth slanted hotly over hers and she was lost.

Jack pressed intimately against her, his body familiar and new and hard and soft all at once. She felt the timber of the front door at her back, cool and unyielding. His mouth on hers was just as unyielding but hot and wet, and devouring. His tongue stroked hers and she moaned into his mouth.

He broke from her, to pant her name against her open lips, and his hand stroked down her side until he encountered the hem of her dress, grasping a handful of material and hiking it up until his fingers were brushing her stocking tops.

Phryne moaned and Jack slowed his kisses, pulling back but letting her hair trickle through his fingers as she arched into his touch.

“I really should freshen up,” he said, his voice gruff and raspy.

He dropped her skirt, picked up his bag and moved past her to the stairs.

“I’ll get you a towel,” she said brightly.

“Is the tub large enough for two, d’you think?” he asked, turning back to look at her.

She broke into a slow, sly smile.

“I think it’s worth a try,” she answered.

He held out his hand to her and she took it willingly.

\----

The morning light was indeed beautiful, Jack thought as he lay watching the room take on colour with the sunrise.

The slumbering figure lying beside him stirred a little, hummed contentedly and snuggled against his side once more.

He smiled and turned from the window towards his bedfellow, watching as her eyes blinked slowly open.

“Good morning,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep and sex.

“Good morning,” he replied, reaching out to smooth wild strands of hair from her forehead.

“Quite a night, Inspector,” she smiled.

“Hmm,” he agreed.

Phryne slid over him, teasing his lips with her own. Jack turned them in the bed until he was kissing her with slow, deliberate earnestness and her body slackened, welcoming his weight and the press of his mouth against her lips, her neck, her bare breasts.

She arched against him.

“Again?” he asked with a raised brow.

“I’m game if you are,” she teased.

Jack pressed against her, guided himself inside her and waited for the tell-tale catch of breath that he’d noted precipitated the start of her pleasure.

He’d lost count of the number of times they had made love the previous night. It had all blended into a perfect blur of sweat and moans and panting and release, over and over between bouts of dreamless slumber better than he could ever remember having.

It had often occurred to him in the long months of his journey to her, how much time they had wasted. It appeared she’d felt the same, as they certainly seemed to be making up for lost time now.

She gasped, drawing him back to the present; the clenching slickness of her and the way her long fingers scratched lightly along his back.

He was utterly committed to bringing her pleasure over and over again. And she loved it.

“Jack, faster,” she panted.

“Not this time,” he replied, twisting his hips and slowing down.

She gasped and moaned with each long, deep thrust, trying to urge him on by surging and arching beneath him.

He finally gave in, his own restraint utterly spent, and began to move with her in earnest. She kissed him; a sloppy meeting of mouths as she clenched around him one final time and then cried her release against his neck as he too, gave in to ecstasy.

She curled against him once more and he held her closely.

“You know at some point, we may want food,” he said smiling into her hair.

“Mmmm, soon,” she replied sleepily, “but not quite yet.”

\---

The next few months passed in an idyllic blur.

Jack and Phryne spent days exploring Paris and the French countryside, and spent nights making love in various hostels, hotels and, on one occasion under the stars, stark naked with only a blanket for modesty.

Phryne took Jack to the artists quarter. There, they explored her past and exorcised some ghosts that lingered still.

Jack took Phryne to the battle scenes of his War and healed some wounds he thought it impossible to heal.

Together, they built new memories over the old. Together they laughed and danced and drank and loved until they were filled to overflowing.

And then they knew it was time to go home.

\----

“Look Jack! It’s Mac, and Dot and Hugh!” Phryne waved her scarf wildly at the little band of people who had come to the docks to greet them.

Jack had been quiet and reserved the past few days, and Phryne was starting to worry about exactly what that might mean.

“Jack?” she queried, looking up into his handsome face.

He turned and smiled down at her. “We’re home,” he said simply.

She placed her hand over his on the railing. “Are you alright?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes of course.”

“You’re not though are you? Jack, please, what’s the matter?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what happens now,” he answered. “I don’t know how we can go on as we did in Paris. I have a life here. A job. And so do you. The police force isn’t going to understand or condone our- _arrangement_. What happens to us now, Phryne?”

She squeezed his hand and looked out at the docks, unable to meet his gaze. Everything had seemed so perfect until this moment of stark, harsh reality.

“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully. “All I know is, I don’t want to lose you.”

\----

Six Months Later

 

The house was smaller than she was used to, but no less beautiful.

She loved it because it was theirs. Something they had found together and fallen in love with together.

He leaned into her, and she turned to press a kiss against his waiting lips.

“Happy?” he asked.

“Happier than I ever thought possible,” she answered as Mr Butler passed by with their suitcases.

“Shall I put the bags upstairs, Mrs Robinson?” he asked.

She grinned. “Thank you Mr B,” she replied.

Jack wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his head on her shoulder.

She stood at the threshold wondering how different her life might have been if she had said yes, instead of no.

He’d given her every opportunity in the last six months and in the end, it had all been so simple.

He’d asked her if she wanted to leave.

She’d said no.


End file.
